


Conflict Resolution

by cuntoid



Category: The Office (US)
Genre: F/F, F/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-26
Updated: 2018-07-26
Packaged: 2019-06-16 21:57:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15446724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cuntoid/pseuds/cuntoid
Summary: Michael decides that maybe offering Pam might solve some conflicts.





	Conflict Resolution

**Author's Note:**

> A commission that got way out of hand - I had too much fun with this one. 
> 
> For some reason, I'm having trouble adding the tags I need for this story. Here's a little rundown of some things to expect, just in case: coercion, dubcon, light humiliation, sexual favors in the workplace, some dom/sub themes, pseudo-forced orgasm, orgasm denial, cumshot, mention of breeding, oral sex, public sex, voyeurism.
> 
> If I missed something, let me know. Going to work on getting the tags where they need to be.

Listening to Oscar prattle hysterically on about Angela’s poster is nearly as boring as Michael flipping through the conflict resolution handbook. He reads off the titles of each resolution style like an item off of a menu, rolling the word around his mouth to test the feel, to weigh his options, and insists on the only one that benefits him directly in any way. Go figure.  
Oscar protests Michael’s insistence that he wear the poster—even Angela seems hesitant to agree, caught up instead in Pam’s suggestion to stick to a weekly schedule of pinning it up. But of course, as with all sensible solutions, Michael turns a blind eye. The conversation sails steadily forward to disaster before Michael throws up his hands in frustration, allowing the binder to clatter to the carpet. 

“So—okay, so, what? Nobody wins? Not _this_ conflict. Not on my watch. C’mon, let’s… you know what? I got it.” 

“I’m not wearing the shirt, Michael.” 

“Actually, I think we should hug it out. Angela and Oscar. Since— _hey_ , shut it! Listen. Since you two obviously hate each other, you can both hug Pam. Feel some positivity. Come on, let’s get a hug going.”

The pair look uncertainly to one another before addressing Pam with their questioning eyes. Pam shrugs, offering them only more of the same casual confusion. It’s not unpleasant to feel the both of them lace their arms around her, one diminutive and stiff, the other taller and soft, a spectrum of bodily sensations within such a tight space. Pam leans into her coworkers and they’re all lulled into the strange security of it. It feels good to glean even the tiniest bit of kind human interaction at work, especially with the tiny blond relaxing into the physical contact. Oscar feels safe and smells like good aftershave, spiced and woodsy, and he sounds genuinely tickled when she compliments him on it, pulling her a little tighter into the nook of his body.

“There you go,” Michael croons, hovering like a fly. “That’s nice, right? Give her a squeeze. Rub her, uh, rub her shoulder, rub her back, be comforting to each other. You probably have some aggression to get out, right? Some frustration? Don’t be afraid to get handsy. Get _intimate_.”

Three sets of eyes alight on Michael no sooner than the words exit his mouth. Four arms loosen from Pam’s frame and pull away, leaving her with a surprising twinge of disappointment at the loss of contact. It’s not every day at work (or at home, for that matter) that she gets to have a little warmth; she needs to take it where she can get it. The problem-solving parade continues on in Michael’s renewed fervor. The grin on his face would be infectious if it wasn’t so stupid, beaming like a beacon in search of problems to solve, of praise to be had for his managerial abilities. His joy is cut short only by the one thing that steals the wind from his sails without fail: _Toby._

Files sit before the tired Human Resources representative in a thick stack, held possessively in his hands the moment Michael sets his sights on them. Pam isn’t a mind-reader by any means, but it doesn’t take extrasensory abilities to know that this is a futile battle for Toby, that he should give up before it even begins, and he all but confirms it with the uncomfortable pull on the corners of his mouth. 

“…I’d like to see those, please.”

Toby sighs with all the weariness of the world as his fingers tighten, unwilling to give in to defeat just yet. “I can’t do that.”

“You can’t do that, huh? _Huh_ … okay.” His jaw flexes as he levels Toby with that baleful stare, eyes flickering between the man and the folders. “Now, _you and I_ have a conflict—”

Toby grimaces as Michael reaches down to grab the file, two fully grown men warring over documents that ultimately don’t matter. Pam watches the two of them tussle over the bundle of notes for only a moment before all of Toby’s gusto is gone and he surrenders the prize to Michael, sighing in his defeat as if he ever had a chance at all. Pam glances toward the window in disappointment, the blinds drawn tight; Jim would love to see this. She thinks about how to tell him, about how he’ll light up and snicker into his hands, focus those clever eyes directly on her. It strikes something inside of her when he does it. It blooms in her belly like a flame, like a slow simmer, and just the thought of it sparks that same heat in the basin of her hips.

“There—no more conflict! That wasn’t so hard, right, Toby? _God_. Wonder how many of these are about _you_.”

“Michael, that’s really—”

“Are you still whining about this? What would shut you up? You wanna… _oh!_ Pam! Pam helped us solve our last conflict, right?”

Pam shifts, looking from Toby to her boss and back to Toby. There’s renewed interest in Toby’s eyes as he sits up a little straighter in his seat, palm running over his thigh like he’s wiping sweat away. She takes an instinctive step back and turns to Michael as a delicate blush creeps up her throat, settling in the apples of her cheeks. “Michael, I don’t know…”

“Actually, I’d love to see Pam’s conflict resolution skills. Sure.” 

“Well, Angela and Oscar hugged her pretty tight, so… I guess we should keep it interesting, switch it up a little. Pam, why don’t you let Toby feel you up. I bet that’s the most action he’s seen since his latest divorce.”

Toby casts Michael a dismissive glance. The corner of his mouth twitches in his clear distaste, the heaviness of his gaze suddenly sharp, focused, filled with a kind of burning intensity that matches the warmth in her belly. She opens her mouth to speak and can’t find the words until Toby’s already on his feet, taking slow strides to bridge the gap between them, and the weight of his presence is suddenly daunting. It takes up her whole visual scope like she has tunnel vision, heart pumping as Toby nods his assent.

“I’d like that, Michael. I think that would make me feel better. Pam…” Toby ducks low to meet her eye line and wraps his fingers around the curve of her waist, feeling solid in his grip even as she yields to him. Her tongue is quick to protest but Toby sees the spark deep in her eye, having had years to study and identify that very same expression. “Relax and enjoy it.”

Pam licks her lips as his thumbs creep over the curve of her ribcage. It’s easier to be silent, to leave his warm hands and Michael’s incredulous stare unacknowledged. It makes her feel safer somehow, less guilty. Less of a cheater. His fingers crawl slowly, in direct contrast to the way her heart hammers away mere inches from his touch, and that tiresome rhythm in her chest is skipped up only by the sensation of his thumbs sweeping up over the underswell of her breasts. The thinness of her shirt betrays the shape underneath, the delicate slats of her ribs on her slim frame, the weight of her breasts in his palms as he presses into them, the firmness of that flesh. He squeezes, kneads, molds them in his big hands, and Pam leans into it. Her eyelids flutter and again those lips part to say something, to say anything, but instead she only sighs. It’s such a light sound that she’s sure it has evaporated into the air of the annex, but Toby’s lips twitch into a knowing smirk and she looks away from his face.

“It’s okay,” he soothes, inching closer to the heat radiating off of her in waves. His voice is low, entering her ears and dropping straight down between her thighs with each word. “It’s okay to enjoy it. I can go under your shirt, if you like. I can make it feel even _better_ for you.”

“Okay, Toby, you don’t need to get all _creepy_ about it. God. Conflict resolved – Pam? Come on, let’s get you away from this, this… _assault_. Yuck.”

Michael all but grabs her from Toby, leading her by the shoulders to the receptionist desk. He deposits the complaint files there to rifle through, addressing the office as he picks through the papers. 

“Have any of you ever gone to Toby with a complaint only to have wasted time talking, with no resolution to your problems? Hands, please, a show of hands… _Wow._ ” Michael shakes his head and sighs. “Unbelievable. We’re a family, here, and you know how families resolve fights? With _each other_. With _love_. So, let’s, uh, let’s go through these and resolve some conflicts. Okay.”

Pam stands beside Michael with her cheeks lit up red, eyes straying to Toby and among her coworkers with a keen sense of guilt. Every gaze that she meets seems to know. She can barely register what Michael is saying as he mumbles through the notes in search of a juicy one, a conflict worth resolving. She meets Jim’s eye while he swivels mindlessly in his chair, arms crossed and brow furrowed at her; he doesn’t have to speak for her to know what he’s thinking. _What’s wrong, Beesly? What’s up?_

“Okay! Here’s one, uh… from Kelly. She says that Ryan never returns her calls. Join the club, he never returns mine, either. Maybe because… _well._ Why, Ryan?”

“Wait, what the hell?” Kelly interrupts. She runs the gamut between horror and humiliation, avoiding Ryan's reaction like the plague. “I didn’t make that complaint. I was just – I mean, _yeah_ , I was complaining, but as a friend… I _thought_ , anyway. Thanks a lot, Toby.”

Toby shakes his head, throwing his hands up in defeat. He mumbles to himself and trails off as Michael voices his agreement with Kelly, finding enthusiasm in sharing his disdain for the HR representative. Ryan watches the scene unfold before him in disbelief. He meets Pam’s eye and there’s a strange connection there, the both of them striving to find some sense in everything happening around them, and they share a bewildered shrug as Michael taps Pam’s shoulder to catch her full attention. 

“Pam! We’re gunna fix this. Why don’t you… comfort Kelly. She’s upset, she could use some healing. Some sensual healing, maybe? Why don’t you give her a kiss?” 

The office goes silent. Not even a breath is heard in the moments following Michael’s suggestion, Kelly and Pam staring at each other with perfect poker faces. Pam devolves into an unexpected train of thought, one that re-stokes the flame licking between her thighs. She’s never been with another woman before, hasn’t even considered it. But as Kelly shifts in her seat, she notices the softness of her figure, her lips, how silky her hair looks pinned up. As if sensing Pam’s mental exploration, Kelly wraps a loose strand of hair around her fingers and tugs, twists, tugs again. Her nails are manicured and glossy in the light, the opposite of Pam’s modest, trimmed fingernails, and it makes Pam blush again to meditate on why two women might want trimmed fingernails before kissing each other. What does it feel like to kiss a woman? Would Kelly do that?

Ryan clears his throat and effectively slices through the tension, all eyes snapping from Pam and Kelly to him in an instant. He keeps his focus laser-tight on Michael, licking his lips before leaning forward in his chair. “I would be uh, interested in that. I want that resolution.”

“Excuse me?”

Kelly’s sharp tone can’t tear his focus from the task at hand. Ryan turns to his on-again off-again girlfriend and lifts his eyebrows, speaking calm and low as if hypnotizing an animal. It’s a wonder to behold—the fact that Kelly shuts down and listens is remarkable. Ryan’s mastery over gaining and keeping her favor is nothing short of unbelievable. 

“ _Kel_. We’ve talked about this, remember? Bringing girls into the mix? Exploring? Remember the weekend with the whipped cream and the—”

“ _Ryan_.”

“Don’t you want to make me happy? Don’t you want to be my sexy girlfriend showing me how sexy she can be? For me, Kel?”

Kelly bites her lip and glances again at Pam. The women watch each other weigh their options and Kelly shrugs a shoulder, lifting slowly from her seat with her eyes kept mostly on Ryan, as if waiting for his constant approval, his guidance. He smiles at her and she returns the gesture, giggling a little before making her way to Pam. Once she reaches her, she gives Pam a sly little smile and leans up to whisper into her ear. Her lips brush the lobe and Pam shudders as a tingle zips up her spine.

“Don’t worry, Pam—I’m a really, _really_ good kisser. I’m, like… the _best_.”

Pam lets a little laugh loose, the girls releasing their tension in this pre-kiss giggle that has some of the men in the office shifting in their own seats, speechless and eager for the display. Kelly doesn’t keep anyone waiting, not with Ryan on the proverbial line. She presses a soft kiss to Pam’s lips and pulls back, returning with only a touch more firmness, planting them there like offerings, patient for Pam to relax into it and kiss back. 

“Oh, my god. They’re really doing it.” Michael shares a giggle with himself, excited as a kid at Christmas, eyes darting around his inferiors to revel in their reactions. He did this. He made it happen. His pride swells inside of him as his cock swells in the relative safety of his briefs, subtle enough to go unnoticed and heady enough to keep him watching.

The kiss has happened, is happening, but Pam feels unsated. Their kiss is sweet, as soft as she’d imagined. She parts her lips for Kelly and the taste of her tongue coaxes a gentle moan from her lungs, a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. 

“That’s so hot. _Christ_.”

Pam’s eyes snap open and she jerks back from Kelly, whirling to see Ryan hovering over her shoulder. Time catches up to her and the moment screeches to a halt. She has to ignore the ache of pulling away from contact like this again; being touched by her coworkers is intoxicating, addictive, it fills her with a rush that Roy has never given her or tried to give her. Roy will never grope her in public. He’ll never ease into a sweet, sensual kiss, his lips will never be so soft as Kelly’s, his hands never as sure as Toby’s. 

Murmurs of dissent rise like steam from the seated bodies in the room. It’s only now that Pam realizes the amount of eyes on her. Everyone is watching her indiscretions with laser-focus, with dilated pupils and a rare spell of silence in which to blanket her. 

“Yeah, it was until you _ruined_ it. So… let’s move on, I guess. Next complaint. Ryan, this one is actually from you… about Creed. It says that he has a distinctive old man smell.” Michael peers up from the paper at the accused and wrinkles his nose. “Gross, Creed.”

Creed nods with a good-natured little half smile on his lips, shrugging it off. Pam takes this moment to fan her face a little, sweat tickling at the edge of her hairline. A lone droplet slinks from the dip of her temple and the gentle curve of her cheek, falling from jaw to her collarbone, where it disappears into the soft valley between her breasts. She rubs a hand just inside her shirt, loosing another button down the front and pulling at the collar to let a little cool air inside to quell the fever-heat blotching her skin. She sighs with pleasure and Ryan’s gaze darts back to her from Creed, like a bloodhound trained on the ebb and flow of her arousal.

“It _is_ gross, Michael. I think I’m still pretty upset about it. But, if Pam would… you know… I could use some comfort.”

Creed snaps his fingers, swiveling in his chair with an eye trained on Pam’s figure, on the ass he knows is hidden in that skirt. “Now, I’d argue that _I’m_ the victim, here, and if we’re passing around the secretary, I should at _least_ get the first go.”

Jim scoffs from his desk and throws his hands up, staring at everyone like they’ve gone off the deep end. He avoids Pam’s eye, unable to bring himself to meet it, to see what’s hiding inside of her that puts such a sparkle there. “Isn’t this kind of getting out of hand? What are we really accomplishing, here?”

Michael points his finger at Creed, ignoring Jim entirely in favor of bowing to the old man’s point. 

“He’s right. It’s only fair. So, how to solve this conflict…” Michael taps his chin in thought before clapping his hands together and grinning. “Pam will service both of you.”

“ _Service?_ ” Jim’s voice comes out in a boom, to which Dwight recoils with irritation written into the lines of his face, slicing down into his customary sneer. Before he can snap at Jim, Michael launches into an impassioned monologue.

“Yes, Jim, _service_. Pam’s providing us with a very generous, very _personal_ service. A personal touch. And don’t we all need a little more touch? In life? In our resolutions? Besides, we should settle the debate – she can double check if Creed stinks like an old man or not.”

“Am I just going to… _smell_ him? I don’t want to smell him.”

“Well, I’m sure you’ll be able to smell him just fine on your knees. Look at him – he clearly doesn’t have much time left. Make an old fool’s dreams come true, Pammy, do it for Dunder Mifflin.”

Ryan nearly falls out of his seat standing up. “I want that too. I deserve it.”

“Ryan!”

He spares Kelly half a glance. “You can’t say shit, Kelly. You kissed her. She’s just kissing me somewhere else. She should compare notes, anyway.”

“For science,” Michael observes.

“Science, yeah,” Ryan agrees, nodding at both Michael and Kelly. Just the thought of Pam crawling to settle between his legs is enough to make an uncomfortably visible ridge in his slacks, hidden only by his palm as he seeks any kind of contact. “We should totally do it for… for _science_.”

Jim opens his mouth but Pam interjects with an emphatic _yes_. She laughs a little at her own eagerness and fixes her eyes on the carpet, too shy to face everyone in the wake of her outburst. The two men take their seats where they normally sit, watching Pam approach the little alcove between their desks like a woman come to pray. In a way, she will be, seated primly on her knees with her sins fresh at the forefront of her mind, and once she’s lowered before Creed, she has to reign in the urge to ruck her own skirt around her hips and sink down on her fingers. An irresistible tug pulls in the low of her belly, alight with the need to do this, to please these two people she has no real attraction to. It’s filthy. It’s a strange new low, watching Creed unzip his pants and free his cock. It bobs in the air, surprisingly thick and corded through with delicate veins. 

Creed leans back without any shred of modesty. He rolls his hips to get her attention, smirking a little at her gawking. “C’mon, honey—I won’t take long. Just come here, bring that sweet mouth over.”

He doesn’t have to ask twice.

Pam gives him a tentative lick, swallowing back a moan. It’s been so long since she’s had a chance to do this, to feel the slippery head of a cock sliding over her tongue, a chance to stretch her lips around the thickness of a man like this. The first few bobs are clumsy; she takes a moment to get messy, lapping at the curved tip, encouraging noises from him that only whirl back into the eternal cycle of arousing her, the minute jerks and twitches of his hips as she does her best to please him. 

“ _God_ , I can’t wait for my turn,” Ryan mumbles. 

Creed is true to his word, succumbing to the effects of Pam’s lips, tongue and hands in mere minutes. Thick as he is, he’s not large enough to cause her discomfort as he rides her mouth, spurting his release so that she has to swallow around him. He encourages her in strained grunts to scrape her teeth a little—he shudders under that gentle bite, released only after she’s cleanly swallowed his seed without a drop to spare. There’s a collective sigh from the audience of her friends and acquaintances, perverse relief in her thoroughness, that she should be so eager to consume every last trace of his cum. In the back of her mind, she thinks he actually smells good – he tastes clean, his skin fresh and trimmed and vaguely soapy.

Ryan curses as she turns to crawl to him. The sight of her swollen lips, the glow in her face, the delicate arch of her spine, seeing her so quietly desperate for it makes his cock throb. He gives himself a few lazy pumps of the fist, stroking as she settles between his legs. Ryan waits for her to open her mouth wide for him before he makes a fist at the base so that he swells shiny and pink, aching for her, slapping the head against her tongue and smearing the pre-cum. 

The need plaguing Pam won’t allow her to wait for Ryan to perform his little power-play. She takes him inside of the wet heat of her mouth and drags the flat of her tongue underneath, licking at the silky column of flesh as he threads his fingers into her hair. 

The gentle tugging on her scalp does wonders to stoke that hot thrill driving into her body, a thrust in and of itself, one that nearly matches the rhythm Ryan takes on when his hips start moving. He tightens his grip in her hair and her moans vibrate against him. She can’t take it. The fabric of her panties is hardly functional anymore, soaked entirely through and slick to touch when she gives in to that pervasive urge in every nerve of her body and slides her skirt up her thighs. With Ryan’s cock pushing past her tongue, fucking her face while she tries to relax the muscles in her throat, she allows her own fingers to slip back and forth over her clothed clit.

Ryan shoves her head down until he’s squeezed into the snug muscles of her throat, watching her struggle to swallow or cough or gag against his sudden intrusion, but he keeps her down and pets her hair, shushing her.

“ _Don’t do that_. This isn’t about you,” he murmurs. It feels good, what he’s doing to her scalp, running his fingernails lightly over the roots of her hair as he strokes her. “This is all about me finally using that mouth of yours. Not so easy to crack jokes with Jim while my dick is in your mouth, is it? Now, when I let up, you blow me like you really, _really_ want my cum. _I know that you do._ ”

Pam’s fingers are shaking when they come away, pulled slowly as if trapped in time. She doesn’t need to look to know how wet they are as she presses her hands obediently to the carpet and tries to open her throat for Ryan, working into a pace that has him making fists in her hair and whining, and she doesn’t know whether she wants to laugh at his predictable display or whine with him at the empty ache in her cunt. In a matter of minutes, it doesn’t matter – there’s the familiar pulse and twitch as he spills his cum into her throat, wiping the tears from her cheeks with his thumbs as she swallows him. 

Ashamed or not, she can’t stop the desperate gasp for air when she pops off, scrambling to sit upright and losing her balance. She presses a hand into her skirt, against the soft plush of her mound as though she can stop the ache from the outside. It’s hard to focus through the screen of disorienting bliss coursing through every nerve in her body, but she takes in the labored breathing of the office around her, the hushed murmurs and soft giggling. All of them are caught up in whatever this is, and when it comes down to it, is it any more surreal than other days they’ve shared together? 

Kevin raises his hand shyly into the air and clears his throat. “Uhh… so, I think I’d like to handle my complaints, now.” 

“Shut up, Kevin,” Michael sighs. It’s like he’s been holding his breath this entire time, rubbing the sweat from his forehead on the back of his hand and rolling his eyes at Kevin. “You’re out of order. Next we have, uh… God, it’s hot. Give me a sec, here… Jim and Dwight. There’s an entire stack of these. We should take you three into the conference room and bang them all out.” Michael makes zero effort to mask his shameless chuckle. He takes the sheaf of complaints into his arm like a precious, guarded file and turns on his heel to enter the room. 

“Michael, _no_. This has gone _way_ too far,” Jim starts. His voice breaks a little and Pam’s eyes are on him. It’s hard to tear away from the way he keeps biting his lips, the light buried deep in the dilated pools of his pupils, and for a moment, the troubled lines in his brow disappear. She can practically feel his eyes on her, like hands, tracing the contour of her body like he means to memorize it, to _worship_ it, and Pam strolls by him to follow Michael and an increasingly smug Dwight into the conference room with a new sense of power. Jim meets this silence with helpless defeat and he, too, joins the small group as they close the door behind them and Michael finishes pulling all the blinds. As if it matters, as if anyone is questioning what might be going on in this room after they go in.

“Nice of you to join us, Jim,” Dwight teases. Where Jim watches Pam with wonder and passion, Dwight strips her apart, takes stock of her. He stares at her like a cut of meat. Pam stares at the tabletop, too overstimulated to handle the direct contact of either gaze, and so she burns in silence, trying not to rock in her seat to soothe herself.

“Eat shit, Dwight.”

“Maybe I _will_ eat, Jim, but it won’t be shit.” He leans back in his seat with a grin that could light the entire building on its own. He rubs his hands together, a villain of sorts, and Jim feels the ember of his hate for Dwight stoke again. 

“Gentleman. M’lady,” Michael intones, nodding formally at each of them. He sits up straight with his poker face firmly in effect, a perfect mediator and referee. He’s in his element. He’s ready to service customers, so to speak. “Let’s start.”

The next several minutes mount the tension in the room as Michael reads off complaint after complaint, trick after trick, some of which Pam had no idea. It’s hard not to giggle at some of them, at Jim’s knack for playfulness. It brings her attention to his hands, wringing his fingers and drumming over the cheap wood. 

“ _Pam,_ ” Dwight whispers, reaching over to grasp the arm of her chair and tug. “ _C’mere_. Come sit with me.”

She allows him to roll her seat over so that they’re nearly hip to hip, knees touching when she turns toward him. He slides his hand from the chair to her thigh in a fluid line, smoothing her skirt down the length of her leg only to drag it back up on his way to her panties. He hooks a finger inside of them, rubbing at the gusset, and laughs, allowing the fabric to snap back against her body. 

“Don’t think we need _those_ , do we? Take them off. Hurry, I’m feeling pretty sad hearing all about Jim’s dumb little pranks, aren’t you? Although… _sad_ isn’t quite the word we’re looking for. I’d guess you were in heat with how pathetic and wet you are.”

Pam swallows the humiliating sound building in her lungs, obeying Dwight and discarding her panties to the floor underneath the table. Michael observes them without comment, choosing instead to continue diligently on with his task. Jim looks miserable as he watches Dwight shake his head and snap his fingers, gesturing toward his lap. The outline of his cock is clear, twitching in the tent of his slacks as he scoots back to allow Pam space. His hands are gentle skating up her thighs, bunching the skirt up above the curve of her ass and dipping his fingers into her sensitive slit. He frames her hips with his arms and pulls her apart for the other men to see, nudging her hips forward and slapping at her inner thighs to command her to spread them wider, to give their audience a good look. She feels the tension coil tighter with each fleeting touch to her clit. She wiggles down to seek that contact, careless enough to whimper openly when Dwight ignores her efforts and plays with her ass, instead. He squeezes at her, slaps in quick succession until there’s a light pink welt in the shape of his fingers and she’s trying to bounce back against his palm. 

“Sit on my lap.” There’s no hint of that playfulness now, only a detached entitlement, the clink of his belt before his cock is out. Where Creed and Ryan were more or less average, where Roy is even less so, Dwight is more than sizeable. It’s near intimidating, the blunt, bulbous head pushing between her lips as she lowers. He makes her hold position until her thighs burn, forces her to be still as he rubs her til shaking, and finally he lowers her so that her ass presses into his body and his cock is caught between her cunt lips. He squeezes her soft thighs together and ruts up and down, leaning around her side to watch the head of his dick push up and disappear between her legs, coming up a little more slick each time. 

Michael never breaks stride. Jim stares at the two of them until he’s as red in the face as they are, sick and squirming with jealousy. Pam can only focus on the way Dwight guides her body, encourages her to sit her full weight on him as he sighs and grunts and ruts into her. There’s constant contact to her clit, driving her closer to the edge of climax, and all she can do is remember to breathe and grip the table’s edge to steady herself. The sound of his cock sliding against her like seems to fill the room, that slippery, obscene noise that only serves to make her wetter and louder, and Dwight grins at her as a spasm makes her thighs tremble.

In the haze, it’s hard to discern who rushes over the brink of control first—one moment she’s riding to meet the slide of his cock against her, and the next he’s pushing his way inside, stretching her, grabbing her hips to help sink her down when gravity fails them. Her only saving grace is how soaked she is and her naked desperation, willing to hurt a little in order to finally cum, to cum around something so _thick_. Clenching against him results in a moan between them, voices harmonious in their pleasure, and all pretense is abandoned in their wake. Michael stops reading, eyes fixed on watching Dwight fuck into Pam’s cunt. He relaxes back in his seat and spreads her thighs wide for them, her feet perched on the edge of the table to support her, so she can grab Dwight’s hand and shove it between her legs. She barely has the words to ask, instead rolling her hips and begging nonsense at him until he’s laughing at her, merciful as he rubs her clit in tight little circles with his fingertips. 

“That’s good, isn’t it, Pam? _Yeah?_ We’re almost finished here, don’t worry. I know how to treat a broodmare when I see one.”

“She’s not cattle, Dwight,” Jim snaps. His voice is like a thin, strained cord, wavering with the intensity of his mounting anger. His flavor of Hell is bright and sharp, alight with the urge to harm the man opposite him even as he’s aroused by it. His body is a traitor, a cage. 

Dwight laughs and it’s almost whimsical, melodious in Pam’s ear, and his unabashed joy in Jim’s slip of the tongue is felt in the way he swells inside of her. He’s getting close. The thought of him filling her up and treating her like an animal to be handled and bred is overwhelming in a way she's never considered, the possibility that Dwight could just take her like this and use her for the furthering of his own bloodline. In this moment she recognizes his strength, the usefulness of his life of farm living outside the farm. A man who can haul a body, who knows secrets about a body and how to recognize its need to be fucked, how rough, how long. He has innate knowledge that is clear in the way he manipulates her and measures his thrusts to brush against that swollen patch of nerves just inside of her.

“ _Oh, Jim_ … your lack of basic knowledge is almost cute. Not as cute as _Pam_ , though. She feels _ready_ for it—does she look ready, Jim? I want you to look and tell me. _No!_  I want you to _ask little Pammy_ if she’s ready for my seed. Do it.”

“Fuck you, Dwight, I am _not_ doing that.”

Michael pipes in with a stern finger pointed at Jim, ready to jump into managerial action even in the throes of voyeuristic bliss. “ _Ah, ah_ —James, you owe Dwight at least that much. Resolve the conflict. We’re bringing it full circle, here.”

“Hurry up, Jim, she’s not gunna last long, and neither am I.”

Jim grits his teeth and stares at Dwight, as ready to pull his eyeballs from their sockets as he is ready to pull Pam from his lap and claim her for himself, his rightful place; _he_ should be inside of Pam, if anyone. _He_ should be making her tremble and moan and gasp, _he_ should be licking the sweat from her skin while she licks at his fingers. Not Dwight. _Anyone_ but fucking Dwight.

“ _Pam_ …” he licks his lips and searches for the words. The sooner he speaks them, the sooner this whole nightmare can end, the sooner they can all pretend nothing happened and can lock it away in the vault of Weird Things That Happened At Work. “Are you ready?”

Dwight slaps Pam on the fleshy side of her hip, unable to access her ass and making do. The yelp she makes is satisfying to his ears, prompting him to slap her a few more times in succession just to feel the fluttering and flexing in her pussy. “Are you ready _for_ …?” he instructs.

“Are you ready for Dwight… for… Dwight’s cum?”

Pam throws her head back against Dwight’s shoulder and keens, answering emphatically in the positive and bucking down, working against his clever fingers and finally finding release. Her cunt seizes up and his laugh sputters off into a groan, grabbing her hips to hold her as flush against him as he can get. The beginnings of her undoing are slow, a build of clench-and-throb that crescendos into a wave unlike anything she’s experienced lately. It crashes white and hot up through her belly to the backs of her eyelids, and Jim’s name is the one on her lips, over and over like beads on a rosary, and when she finally focuses on the object of her clear affection, she finds Jim grinding his palm against the trapped length of his erection and cursing, holding his breath as a wet patch spreads through the fabric. 

Dwight lifts them both and slams her into the edge of the table, face down against the surface and hands splayed out to match, and it only takes a moment of rough pounding, of the obscene sounds his body makes slamming into hers, before he pulls out and thick ropes of cum decorate the dimples above her ass, skirt bunched up around her ribs. Behind her, Dwight tucks himself back into his briefs, zips his pants up. 

“I thought you were gunna… _you know… fill ‘er up._ ” Michael fumbles over his words with zero charm and obvious disappointment. “All that broodmare talk.”

Dwight scoffs and starts to the door, shaking his head. “Absolutely not. I just said what I knew she’d need in order to achieve maximum arousal. A woman’s body is a machine, Michael. I’m not going to deposit my seed into just any rusty old machine. Besides, it’s a more appealing display with easier cleanup.”

Michael nods slowly as if deep in thought, weighing the merits of his words while studying the proof of Dwight’s encounter as it cools on her lower back. 

“I guess that’s a win-win-win.”


End file.
